


Making a New Map

by embroiderama



Series: Wrong Turns AU [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Developing Relationship, Hotel Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:06:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2158512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Peter never caught Neal, nothing went quite the same for either of them. After they met, neither of them thought that the attraction between them could survive the differences in their circumstances. They were wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making a New Map

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Wrong Turns on a Lonely Road](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/608399.html). The sequel started out life as two timestamps written for [](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/profile)[**elrhiarhodan**](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/) and [](http://doctor-fangeek.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://doctor-fangeek.livejournal.com/)**doctor_fangeek** , but it's more than tripled in length from those two ficlets combined. Thank you, chat friends, for the encouragement! In the previous story, I had mentioned Neal doing some time in a French prison, and then I found articles about some of the prisons there being pretty horrible places. So, poor Neal, but the few details that I mention are based on research.

It took a few months for Neal to stop looking over his shoulder, half expecting to see the FBI trailing him. Sometimes he thought he would see Peter Burke descending with a warrant and handcuffs, ready to personally take Neal in for the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Other days, he thought it was more likely that some junior agent would be sent to tail him, to try to catch him in the middle of illegal activities. The fact that he really had left his criminal life behind didn’t make that paranoia go away.

Mozzie would’ve been proud, Neal thought, and the idea didn’t taste as bitter as it would have once upon a time.

When the federal agents on his tail failed to materialize, Neal let himself relax. He stopped worrying that every trip through an airport was going to end in handcuffs. He re-focused on his gameplay and pulled out of what was getting dangerously close to a losing streak. It was all the more surprising then when he looked at the crowd watching a tournament game in LA and saw Burke standing there, looking right back at him. Neal tensed but then Peter smiled—an honest, friendly kind of smile—and Neal saw that he was wearing jeans and a leather jacket.

ASAC Burke wouldn’t be going undercover to catch him, so this had to be Peter. Just Peter, the man who’d been kind enough to give a ride to a stranger alone in the desert. The man who had fucked him and then given him the opportunity to walk away. Neal thought that Peter’s presence would throw him off, but he found a thrill in performing for him—a thrill that simply playing well hadn’t given Neal in far too long. He walked away from the table a little richer and found Peter waiting for him.

“I’m not here in a professional capacity,” Peter said quickly. He looked oddly nervous, with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Neal looked Peter up and down, taking in how well much better he looked in the fitted casual clothes than he had in that boxy suit. His legs were long and lean in the dark blue jeans, his shoulders broad in the brown leather jacket. “It’s good to see you.”

Peter nodded and took his hands out of his pockets to let his arms hang loose. “I forgot about you, all those years ago after I got taken off the counterfeit bonds case, but ever since the desert I can’t seem to make that happen again.”

“Should I be worried?”

“I told you I’m not here in a professional capacity, and unless you give me reason to do otherwise I’m going to leave your past in the past.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You want to get a drink?”

“Sure.”

“I’m staying in the hotel across the street, and there’s a good bottle of whiskey in my room. Or do you want to go to a bar?”

Peter moved in closer and spoke low and quiet in Neal’s ear. “I don’t give a damn about the whiskey. I’m here to see YOU.”

It was far from the first time somebody had told Neal they wanted him, not even the first time that day, but Peter’s words sent a flush of excitement through Neal’s body. He found himself walking in step with Peter as they hurried across the busy street and up to Neal’s room, and when he was on his back with his knees in the air and Peter Burke’s welcome weight bearing down on him Neal thought, I’ve been caught. He caught me.

He knew that Peter would leave in the morning, but he also knew that this wouldn’t be the end. He was willing to bet everything on that.

~~~

After that, Neal started keeping an eye out for Peter again, but it was anticipation rather than fear that drove him to seek out that familiar face in the crowd. He was most aware of the possibility of Peter's presence when he was within driving distance of LA, and so it came as a surprise when Peter materialized from the shadows in a hotel bar in Manhattan.

"You're far from home," Neal said, taking in the sight of Peter in a black dress shirt and dark jeans.

"That depends on your definition of home." Peter raised his eyebrows and took a sip of whiskey. "I grew up upstate, and I have friends in the city."

"Hmm. Would you like to take your drink upstairs?"

"I would, but I want to talk first, and we don't have a very good track record when it comes to hotel rooms."

"I think we have an excellent track record."

"Not for conversation."

Neal tilted his head in concession then followed Peter to a small booth. They sat down across from each other, and it was cramped enough that their knees brushed against each other under the table. Neal stretched his leg out and rubbed it against Peter's more purposefully, but stopped when Peter gave him a quelling look.

"This isn't the kind of conversation my attorney should sit in on, is it?"

"No. I just--it drives me crazy. I want you. I think about you. Back at that motel in the desert you gave me some dots, but I'm hesitant to do any research to connect them. I don't want to raise any flags that could cause trouble for either of us."

"I appreciate that."

"I want you to tell me something about how you went from art theft and bond forgery--"

"Alleged."

"Right. How you went from that to _allegedly_ law-abiding professional gambler."

"I haven't committed a crime more interesting than speeding since I got back from France," Neal snapped.

"Okay." Peter held his hands up. "I'm sorry. I believe you. Tell me something about France?"

"I got screwed in France, and not in a romantic sort of way. I may not have been innocent, but my biggest crime was trusting the wrong people. And prison there--" Neal shook his head, memories of those dark years crowding in. "It wasn't something I ever want to repeat."

Peter's lips were pursed, his eyes still probing but carrying a sadness that made Neal feel like he'd heard some of what went unsaid. "So you came home."

"That's a nice way to describe being deported. I was short on marketable skills, and I didn't have much money to work with so I went to Vegas and started gambling professionally. I'm good at it. It works for me."

Peter nodded. "That makes sense."

"What about you? How did you end up in the LA field office? I would have figured you for a family man, not the kind of guy to screw around with strange men in hotel rooms."

Peter winced. "Shortly after I started working the bond forgery case, I got reassigned to Organized Crime. I was sent undercover, and I ended up working that case for almost two years."

"That's one hell of a long con."

"Yeah. I thought it would be a good career move, but when it was over I didn't know who I was anymore. I had been engaged to a woman who was truly wonderful, but it was too much for both of us. We broke up. Eventually, I ended up taking some leave." Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I got back on track eventually, but it never really felt like the right track."

"I understand that feeling."

"It doesn't make any sense, but the closest I come to feeling like I'm in the right place isn't in the office or at my condo or at my folks' house upstate. It's when I've been with you, and I don't know what to do with that."

Neal felt a strange twinge of recognition in his chest but he tried to shake it off. "That's awfully earnest for a come-on, Agent Burke."

"Stop it. You want to be an honest man? Don't try to con me."

Neal thought about getting up and leaving, but the truth was that he wanted to stay. He nodded, but he didn't know what to say, how to be honest without revealing too much of himself, so he took a few sips of his drink and waited to see if Peter was done with his interrogation.

"I have a room upstairs," Peter said quietly.

Neal had his own room as well, booked by his manager, but he liked the idea of being in Peter's space. "Good." They rode the elevator like strangers but as soon as they were through the door into the dimly lit room Peter backed him against the wall and kissed him hard. Their teeth clicked as their lips slipped against each other, and when Neal felt the back of his head grinding into the wall behind him he twisted away from the wall, drawing Peter with him.

Neal walked backward, kissing Peter while they both scrabbled at buttons, until he stumbled on his feet and sat down hard on the edge of the low hotel dresser. His cock was growing hard against the crotch of his pants so he unzipped himself and sat breathing hard against Peter's cheek. He closed his eyes as he felt Peter's lips on his neck, and Peter kissed his way down the exposed skin of Neal's chest. Neal opened his eyes to see Peter crouched in front of him, and he grinned at the sight. Even though he'd left the criminal life long behind, there was something incredible about the idea of a federal agent on his knees.

"Suck me," he said, and Peter nodded slowly. Neal watched Peter work, watched his head bob, his shoulders rounding in. He noticed that Peter's hair was just starting to thin in the back, and he felt an inexplicable surge of fondness that drove his arousal higher. Neal was no monk, his habit was to hook up with men and occasionally women as he traveled from place to place, but it was never the same person twice, usually just blow jobs and hand jobs--enough to get off, not enough to leave himself open and vulnerable.

When he met Peter the first time, when he went on his knees to get fucked by Peter, it had felt like something he was daring himself to do, a thrill of danger with a man he could never see again. The second time had broken all of his habits, all of his rules. Hooking up with a stranger, Neal would close his eyes, focus on his pleasure, on every sensation, but with Peter he didn't want to close his eyes, and he didn't want to hurry anything along. He wasn't sure how many times they would have this, if they'd ever have it again.

Neal wrapped his hands around the edge of the dresser to keep from reaching out and grasping Peter's head as he felt himself getting closer, flashes of pleasure moving through him from the tip of his cock to his gut, his lungs. The sharp corners of the fake wood pressed lines of pain into his fingers, and he bit his lip to hold himself together, but it wasn't working. Neal gasped, and Peter looked up. The warmth in those brown eyes undid Neal, and finally he had to close his eyes as shook. He felt Peter's hands squeeze his thighs as he came in Peter's mouth, and then he slumped back against the wall. While he caught his breath, he felt Peter's tongue and lips on his cock, so gentle now as he drew away.

Neal sat slumped on the dresser as he rode out the floaty high of orgasm, and he could hear Peter moving around nearby, the rattle of his belt, the slide of fabric against skin. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't surprised to see Peter standing there naked, and he smiled at the sight of those broad shoulders and long legs. Peter's cock was half hard, and while Neal knew he wouldn't be good for another round that night he was looking forward to watching Peter come. Neal shrugged his shirt off the rest of the way then stood up with a graceful slink and stripped out of his pants and shoes.

Neal had been happy to let Peter direct the course of their previous times together, but he needed to see how Peter would react to taking a more passive role. He looked at the bed and then back at Peter, who was watching him with dark eyes. "Lay down on your back," he said, and Peter lifted one eyebrow.

"I can go for that. Just let me grab a condom from my bag."

"You don't need that."

Peter's mouth dropped open. "Neal, that's _not_ \--"

"We're not doing that. I don't bareback. Trust me?"

"I--" Peter tilted his head and looked away, but when he looked back at Neal he nodded. "Yeah."

"Then get comfortable on your back." Neal stepped into the bathroom to find the bottle of hotel-provided lotion then went back into the bedroom to watch as Peter sat down on the bed and scooted closer to the middle then reclined with a small pillow under his back. When he went still, Neal crawled over to straddle Peter's legs and sat back on Peter's thighs. He felt a pleasant burn from the stretch in his hips, and he exhaled into the stretch as he reached out to cup his fingers around Peter's cock.

It felt heavy and warm in his hand, closer now to flaccid, but as he stroked a light touch up from Peter's balls to the glans and back down again he felt the growing erection against his palm. He tapped out some of the lotion onto his fingers then wrapped them around Peter's cock again and began to work him in earnest. Peter released a shaky moan and let his head drop back against the pillows.

"Good?" Neal asked.

"God yeah."

Peter tilted his head forward again and watched Neal with heavy-lidded eyes. He pushed his hips up toward Neal, and Neal watched as Peter's skin flushed and sweat broke out on his chest. He kept up the steady pumping motion, flicking his thumb over the head, then increased his speed when Peter thrust his hips up toward Neal's hand. Neal looked at the sweat pooling in the hollows of Peter's exposed throat, and despite how spent he felt, a faint thread of arousal began to unfurl inside him. The sight of Peter prone in front of him, beneath him, had a vulnerability that reminded Neal of his own strength.

Peter arched his hips up again, and Neal turned his focus back to getting Peter off. With his free hand, he reached out and slid his palm up from Peter's waist to his chest. When Neal scraped his thumb over one nipple Peter gasped and came, his whole body arched and trembling for a few heady seconds before he relaxed down into the pillows again. Neal kept his hand cupped around Peter's now-soft cock for a moment then gently let it go and swung himself off of Peter's legs and down to the floor.

In the bathroom, he washed his hands then dampened a washcloth. When he sat down on the side of the bed and wiped the sticky come from Peter's skin, Peter opened his eyes and gave Neal a fond, sleepy smile that made something inside Neal's chest ache.

"Come here," Peter said, then reached out and tugged Neal down to lie next to him. Neal went with the motion, and he felt his own sleepiness tugging at him as he let Peter roll him over to the middle of the bed. As Peter pulled up the covers, Neal relaxed into warmth and bulk of Peter's body and let everything else fall away.

When Neal woke to the weight of Peter's arm slung over him, early morning sunlight was creeping under the curtains. He shimmied out from under Peter's arm without waking him then went to gather his clothes. Peter's jeans were on the floor next to Neal's shoes, and Neal felt his heart race as he knelt and slipped the wallet from Peter's back pocket. There was cash inside along with cards, but Neal looked past those to find what he was looking for--a few slightly bent FBI business cards with Peter's phone number on them. He took one then put the wallet back the way he found it and went to the bathroom to get dressed.

There was a time when Neal could have taken Peter's wallet, extracted what he wanted, and returned it over the course of a two minute conversation, with Peter none the wiser. There was a time when it would have barely even merited a thrill, but now Neal just felt sick. He could have just asked for the card, but he didn't want to explain why. He didn't want to explain that, other than his manager who didn't give a damn about anything other than her percentage, he didn't have anybody to call if things went bad. He didn't have anybody who cared.

For some strange reason, Peter Burke cared, and for some even stranger reason Neal trusted him. Neal pushed away the image of Peter soft and vulnerable beneath him; Neal knew he wasn't in any position to care, to love. It was better to go. With the card in his back pocket, Neal left Peter's room, silently closing the door behind him.

~~~

Peter's desk phone rang while he was focused on a spreadsheet, and he answered distractedly. "This is Burke."

"Peter." The voice was familiar, but Peter couldn't immediately place it. He realized who was on the other end just as the awkward pause ended. "This is Neal."

"Neal." Peter looked around--a pointless precaution given that the LA field office didn't have the glass walls some other offices were sporting. "Why are you calling me here?" He didn't even bother asking how Neal had his office number.

Neal sighed, and it sounded vaguely pained. "I'm in a small town a hundred miles or so northeast of you, and I've been arrested. I didn't do it, but I--I could use some help."

"If you didn't do it, what are you worried about?"

"I swear to you that I didn't do it, but I don't get the impression that these guys are especially concerned with evidence. I don't--" Peter listened as Neal took a slow, somewhat shaky breath in and out through his nose. "I could use somebody on my side here."

Peter thought about telling Neal to just call a lawyer, but his gut was telling him there was something off. "You're putting me in a tough spot here."

"I'm sorry. I'm in a pretty tight one myself." Neal didn't say anything for a moment while Peter silently argued with himself. "Will you come or did I waste my phone call?"

"Where are you exactly?" Peter wrote down the name of the small town then tapped his pen against the paper. "Give me a few hours."

"Thank you."

The call ended then, and for a second Peter thought about not going, not taking the risk. That might have been the smart thing to do, but Peter couldn't take the idea of breaking his word, and despite himself he was worried about Neal. He quickly tied up his work for the day then headed for his car with the address of a small town police station pulled up on the map in his phone.

~~~

Peter flashed his badge at the bored-looking officer at the front desk, and he didn't have to wait long before a burly man in his 40s strolled out to meet him. Peter read him quickly as the kind of man who enjoyed being a big fish in a small pond and moved through life by throwing his weight around. The man held out his hand. "Chief John Paulson. And you are?"

"Peter Burke, FBI. Under what charges are you holding Neal Caffrey?"

Paulson puffed out his chest. "What's your involvement with this jerk?"

"I'm really not at liberty to disclose that."

"Well, whatever that means, we've got Mr. Caffrey on grand theft auto with a side of resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer."

That sounded bad, but it also didn't sound much like Neal. From what Peter could tell, he'd been making a good living playing poker so he had no reason to steal a car, and there was nothing in any record or investigation of him that pointed to violence. "I'm going to need to talk to Caffrey. Alone."

Paulson glowered but directed Peter to an interview room. After a ten minute wait that was eight minutes too long, a young uniformed officer led Neal into the room and sat him down in the chair. Neal had a wicked bruise on his face, and Peter didn't like the way he was moving but he thought some of that could have been the way his hands were cuffed behind him. The officer was about to secure Neal to the table when Peter stopped him.

"Uncuff him. Please."

The officer looked nervous. "The Chief said to keep him restrained. I--I don't--"

Peter sighed. He didn't want to cost the kid his job. "Fine. Just give me some time with him." The officer nodded, and as soon as they were alone in the room Peter took out his keys and knelt behind Neal to uncuff him. Neal let out a painful sound as he rolled his shoulders and rounded them forward before sitting up straight again.

Peter walked around to sit across the small table from Neal, and he could see marks on Neal's wrists; they hadn't applied the restraints gently, and it had happened more than once. "I want you to tell me your side of the story but first, are you hurt?"

Neal shrugged, but the motion was more in his face than his shoulders. "I've been better, but I don't think anything's broken. I just need to get out of here."

"I'm going to do my best. What happened?"

"I bought a car, a beautiful classic convertible, drove it about twenty miles, and got pulled over. The guy ran my license and plates, and suddenly I was getting yanked out of the car and told I was under arrest."

"Yanked?"

"Literally. I was startled, apparently I kicked the officer by accident, and it all went downhill from there."

"Was the officer injured?"

Neal snorted an unamused laugh. "He wasn't limping when he frogmarched me in here."

"You didn't have any papers that would attest to the legal sale of the car?"

"Of course I did, but they disappeared sometime between when I got slammed into the ground and when they drew up the charges here in the station."

"Great." Peter ran a hand over his face. "Okay, tell me where you bought the car."

Peter wrote down the information Neal gave him then reluctantly re-cuffed him, far more gently than he'd been cuffed before. "Give me a little time to work this out. I'll get you out of here even if I have to post bail, but I don't think it'll come to that."

Neal sighed and nodded. "Thank you. Really."

"Thank me when you're not cuffed in a chair."

Neal gave him a tired smirk. "As loose as you attached those things, I could uncuff myself."

"Right. Well, do yourself a favor and just don't right now. I'll be back as soon as I can."

~~~

Peter drove out to the small dealership where Neal had bought the convertible and used his badge to get copies of the paperwork Neal had signed along with security footage of the purchase. It felt good--like the kind of fieldwork he hadn't done in too many years. The car had been stolen, but not by Neal. Back at the police station, Peter found the sad excuse for a law enforcement officer willing to accept that mistakes had been made as long as Neal wasn't planning to squawk about police brutality.

Peter wanted to push it because nothing about the situation felt like justice at all, but he knew it could take a week to get the evidence in front of a judge and Neal just wanted to be free of the charges. Peter didn't blame him, and he didn't argue; he made a note of the arresting officer's name and badge number and bookmarked that for later. He waited by the door until Neal walked out in rumpled clothes with a suit bag slung over his shoulder, rubbing at his wrists and blinking in the sunshine.

Neal gave Peter a smile, but he looked exhausted. "I don't suppose you could give me a ride to, uh, somewhere I can buy a car?"

"I didn't come all this way to leave you here and let them arrest you for vagrancy." He took Neal's bag and put it over his own shoulder. "Let's go." Peter kept an eye on Neal while they walked, and he was watching when Neal grimaced as he folded himself into the car. Once he was behind the wheel, Peter turned to look at Neal again. "Lift up your shirt."

"I'm not really in the mood right now, if you don't mind."

"Stop it. I want to see how badly you're hurt."

Neal signed then untucked his shirt and ruched it up to reveal a chest that was bruised over the ribs. It also looked like he'd gotten punched in the gut to go with the deep bruise on his cheek, and Peter seethed as he reached out to put his palms over Neal's ribcage. "Breathe in and out." Neal complied, and Peter didn't feel any bones shifting. "How much did that hurt?"

"Not as much as it would if they were broken. I'm okay."

"Yeah. Do you really feel up to dealing with buying or renting another car and then driving to wherever it is you were headed?"

"I'm between games right now so I was planning to just drive for a while. To answer your question though, I can if I have to."

To Peter, that sounded like 'no.' "Then come back to my place. Give yourself a chance to heal up." Peter's heart pounded as he said the words. He shouldn't want this man in his life, but he did.

"And how would that look to your bosses? Harboring a man who was once a fugitive?"

"I'm starting to think that I don't really care."

Neal blinked heavily for a moment then nodded. "Okay then, I accept."

Peter leaned down to help Neal recline the passenger seat, and by the time he'd started the car and pulled out of the parking lot Neal's eyes were closed.

~~~

Neal slept straight through the drive home, and when he was parked in front of his condo Peter unbuckled his seatbelt then reached over and gently touched one fingertip to the bruise on Neal's cheek. Neal woke at the touch and tried to sit up straight, only to bump against the seatbelt. He slumped back with a hiss of pain, one hand braced on his ribs as he glared at Peter.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. We're, uh, at my place."

Neal nodded then unbuckled his seatbelt and sat up carefully. "I slept the whole way?"

"You must have needed it. You still look exhausted." Peter took Neal's bag again and walked up to his front door, leaving Neal to follow at his own pace. Inside, Peter suddenly felt self-conscious about how plain the place was. He'd seen corporate apartments with more personality, but beyond a few comfortable pieces of furniture Peter didn't care too much about home decorating. He had a big TV, a big recliner, a nice couch, a table to eat at, good furniture in the bedroom. It was comfortable and functional, but it was neither homey nor stylish.

"Nice place," Neal said, and he was too flattened by exhaustion for Peter to be able to tell if the words were genuine or a jab.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not really."

"Hmm, well, considering you spent the day in jail, and I sincerely doubt you ate there, I think you should have some dinner." Peter grabbed the Chinese menu from the fridge and put it down on the end table then steered Neal over to sit on the couch. "Pick something out. I'm just gonna go change."

When Peter returned to the living room, more comfortable now in worn, old jeans and a t-shirt, Neal was paging through an _Economist_ issue from the coffee table. "I would have figured you more for _Sports Illustrated_."

"I have that one too. My mother gives it to me for Christmas every year. Now, what do you want to eat?"

"Egg drop soup and a shrimp roll sounds good. I have money."

"I think I can cover the three bucks, but thanks." Peter called in the order, adding on a few other things for himself and for in case Neal's appetite woke up later on. The place was close and fast, and within twenty minutes he was setting up their food at the table. Peter was about to see if Neal wanted a hand up from the couch when he heard Neal walking over and looked up to see him moving slowly. "If you start hurting worse, I want to take you to get checked out."

"I'm hurting only as much as I should be." Neal's words had a bitter edge to them, but he just sat down, opened his container of soup and breathed in the steam. "This smells good, actually. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Peter spooned rice and orange chicken onto his plate, and as he and Neal ate together quietly he realized that they'd never shared a meal before. They'd had a drink together, they'd ridden together in Peter's car twice, and they'd gone to bed together three times, but they'd never slept the night through and then woken up together. This new domestic scene was oddly awkward and comfortable at the same time.

When Neal pushed his food away with a sigh he looked over at the hallway that led away from the connected living room and dining room. "Am I sleeping in a guest room?"

"I--my second bedroom is full of boxes. I meant to get a futon for it, but it just never happened."

"It's okay, I can sleep on the couch. I'm going to get a shower if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind, but you should sleep in my bed. You're sore enough as it is, and I sleep on the couch sometimes anyway. I'll go change the sheets while you take a shower."

"I'll accept your offer of the bed, but don't worry about the sheets."

"Okay. There's Advil in the medicine cabinet if you want."

"Thank you." Neal carefully stood, and Peter showed him to the bathroom, gave him some towels, then went to carry Neal's bag into the bedroom. The room was as devoid of personality as the rest of the condo, but Peter turned down the sheets and straightened the pillows before going back to the dining room to clean up from dinner and give Neal some space.

He heard the shower turn off, then footsteps down the hallway and the bedroom door closing. Alone but not alone, Peter turned the TV on low and opened up his laptop to see what he'd missed while he was out of the office. There were several emails, but most of them were just notifications or meeting notes. Somehow, Peter had risen to a level where he really wasn't needed for anything important--or at least anything he considered important--and it was depressing. The Bureau was his life, but what kind of life? He had enough years in that he could retire with a pension, but then what? Peter really didn't know.

A few hours later Peter still had the TV on, but he had stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers and was stretched out on the couch with a blanket, and the long day of driving was pulling him toward sleep. He realized he had lost track of the movie he was watching when he heard footsteps and looked up to see Neal wander into the room. Neal was wearing Peter's robe, and his hair was disheveled like he'd been through a storm. "You need something?" Peter sat up and turned on the table lamp.

Neal blinked in the light. "Water?"

"Sure, hold on." Peter went to the kitchen to grab a cold bottle from the fridge and cracked the top before handing it over. "You feel okay?"

"I'm fine." Neal took a long drink of water and closed his eyes while he swallowed.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. You know, you don't need to sleep on the couch. Your bed is huge."

"You didn't seem like you wanted me too close earlier. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Neal nodded and walked back down the hall to the bedroom. Peter had just sat down and turned off the light again when Neal returned. "I think--I wish you would sleep in the bed. With me."

Neal looked uncertain, and Peter's first instinct was to think that Neal was just telling him what he wanted to hear in some misguided attempt to be a good guest. Then he looked in Neal's eyes, and even in the light of the TV screen he could see that Neal truly didn't want to be alone. "Okay. Sounds good."

Peter clicked off the TV and followed Neal back to the bedroom. "How is it comfortable for you to sleep?"

"My right side's not as bad." Neal climbed into the bed and stretched out on his right side in the middle of the bed.

Peter thought about staying near the edge, giving Neal some space, but instead he got under the covers and moved in close. He put a hand on Neal's hip and tilted him back a few degrees to let Peter's body take some of the weight off of his ribs. "How's that?"

"Mmm, good."

Peter was silent for a few minutes, but Neal still wasn't asleep. "Did something else happen to you out there? More than getting roughed up?" Peter thought about the officer he had book marked in his mind and wondered if he deserved something worse than a quiet sabotaging of his career.

"No." Neal shifted to lean more of his weight against Peter, and Peter thought he had fallen asleep when he started talking again, his voice very quiet. "Without you, they might have pinned it on me. I would have gone to prison, and I can't. After France, I can't. I can't."

"Shhh, you won't." Peter wanted to know what had happened overseas, but he wasn't going to ask. "You're safe."

"Only with you," Neal replied, his voice a mumbled whisper.

Peter waited for more, but Neal was truly asleep now. Peter closed his eyes, felt the warmth of Neal's body against him, and drifted off as well.

~~~

Neal woke under the weight of Peter's arm, and it felt like a strange repeat of something that had happened weeks ago except this time he didn't want to leave. He didn't have the energy to fight against the truth that he wanted to be with Peter, that he cared more than he thought he ever could again. He did, however, need to relieve himself. He moved to roll away from Peter, but the pain in his ribs stopped him just as he heard Peter's voice.

"Hold on, let me help you." Peter put an arm behind his back, and Neal went with that motion and slowly sat up. His whole body felt stiff and sore, but his ribs were the worst. He hadn't taken a beating like that in a long time, and he'd been happy to forget how much it hurt. Neal slid to the edge of the bed and stood up, moving his body gingerly. "You okay?"

Neal nodded, which reminded him that his head ached too. "Just need to use the bathroom."

Neal made his way to the bathroom and relieved himself then looked in the mirror and smoothed down the worst of his bed-head. His face looked bad, but the damage was fairly localized. In nothing but his boxers, Neal could see that he had some bruises on his knees from hitting the ground, but the widespread bruising across his midsection was the worst. Nonetheless, it would all heal soon enough. Neal opened the door to find Peter waiting for him with a terrycloth robe in hand.

"I thought you might want to warm up."

"Thanks." Neal pulled on the soft robe, and with that he remembered wearing it the evening before. He remembered asking Peter to share the bed with him, not for sex but for comfort, and he wanted to run away. Or crawl away. "I'm sorry I was such a mess last night. That was above and beyond."

"I was glad to do it."

"Right. Sure." Neal moved toward the kitchen, but Peter caught him loosely by the arm.

"Don't blow this off like it's nothing."

"I've had worse than a few punches. It's not a big deal."

"I'm sure. And yet it is." Peter shook Neal's arm lightly. "But that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?" Neal asked the question lightly, the best smile he could manage on his face.

Peter didn't respond to the smile. "I meant, don't blow off this--" Peter gestured between them. "--this thing between us."

"Oh." Neal wasn't prepared for that. "I think I need coffee and breakfast to have this conversation."

Peter let go of his arm, and they both went into the kitchen. While Peter started putting water in the coffee machine, Neal opened up the refrigerator and stared blankly at the collection of take-out containers. "There should be some eggs in there," Peter called over his shoulder.

"Yeah, with a sell-by date six weeks ago, and I really don't want to eat Chinese food for breakfast." Neal shuddered, vaguely queasy.

Peter put the coffee pot down. "Okay, let's go out then." Peter showered and got dressed in the time it took Neal to gingerly maneuver himself into some decent clothes and then wet his hair and make it presentable. Forty-five minutes after looking at expired eggs, Neal found himself in a booth in a diner with a huge menu and a cup of coffee in front of him. They ordered then sat looking at each other in the harsh morning light.

"Nothing has really changed," Neal said into the void.

"That's not how I feel." Peter looked at him with an earnest kind of affection that made Neal squirm.

"You're still a federal agent, and I'm still...what I am. And what I was."

Peter nodded slowly. "You're more than that though, and frankly so am I."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you love being a professional gambler? Is it a thrill for you?"

"No. And not anymore. On the other hand, I don't have much of a resume to fall back on." Neal looked for the waitress, but their food wasn't on the way yet. "Turn that around--do you love working for the FBI? Is it a thrill for you?"

Peter looked away for a moment and gave Neal a wry smile. "I used to love it, but I've realized that I haven't in a long time. And no, not anymore. I'm a desk jockey."

"Oh."

"I've had a good career, and I've put in my years. The reason I haven't taken my pension and moved on already is that the FBI has been my whole life, and now for the first time in more years than I can count I'm starting to think that there's another life I want."

"The life of a professional gambler's lover?"

Peter shook his head. "No, but I look at you, and I think maybe you're ready for a new life, too."

Neal's heart raced. "I don't know."

"Here you go, boys!" The waitress put their food down in front of them, and as hungry as he was Neal wasn't sure he could eat.

Peter must have read it on his face because he put a hand on Neal's wrist. "None of this needs to be decided now. You're staying with me until you're healed up and ready to spend hours on the road, and the big picture doesn't matter right now."

"Okay." Neal looked down and watched as Peter pulled his hand away slowly.

"Eat, please. This place makes a good breakfast."

"Okay." Neal hadn't ordered anything fancy, just bacon, potatoes and toast, but he took a bite of his bacon and it was cooked just right. They didn't talk while they ate, but when their plates were removed and their coffee cups refilled Peter went back to the conversation.

"What I'm thinking is that no matter what, I'm tired of working for the FBI. I'm going to put in for my retirement, but it'll take a few months. Until then, I'm not going anywhere."

"And after those few months?"

"I don't know. I'm not too attached to LA, and I'd like to be closer to my family so probably New York--maybe the city, maybe not."

"How do you see me fitting in to all of this?"

"I want you to come here whenever you want to be here, and the same goes for after I move. I don't think that would work for me long-term, but right now nothing is long-term."

"And if I showed up at your doorstep and announced my intention to, I don't know, get my real estate license?"

"Then I think that we both might end up very happy." Peter was quiet for a moment then gave Neal a sweet half-smile. "I think that maybe I love you even now."

"You really know how to put your cards on the table." Neal wasn't so sure that Peter would feel the same way in a few months. A lot could change in that time. Neal remembered walking down the side of that highway after his car broke down. He remembered thinking that the desert could swallow him, and nobody would really know he was gone. The prospect had been terrifying but also tempting. Terrifyingly tempting.

And now, less than half a year later he had an honest man inviting him to live an honest life. That honest life would probably never include island villas and private jets, but it was even more unlikely to ever involve spending months being ill from rotten food, fending off rats, fighting off worse than rats. The glitter of Vegas and the gambling circuit had felt like heaven after the grim hell of La Santé. He closed his eyes and tried to envision what he really wanted, not what he was supposed to want, and it wasn't the glitter or the desert. Nothing like that.

Neal opened his eyes to see Peter watching him with a patient, gentle gaze. "I don't think I want to live in the city. I think--" Neal knew it would sound stupid, idealistic, but in this moment he felt like he could be honest, both with himself and with Peter. "I want to see stars in the sky at night sometimes. I want to see trees. I want to see green things growing where nobody planted them."

Peter smiled. "I was leaning toward the country myself." Peter flagged down the waitress for their check, and for all that Peter said they weren't making any long-term decisions Neal felt like the course was set.

"Are you ready?" Peter asked as he slid out of the booth and held out his hand to help Neal up.

"I'm ready." Neal stood and winced at the ache in his ribs, but he knew that ache would fade and be left behind. Far behind.

"Then let's go home." Peter's hand was a steady weight on Neal's shoulder as they moved toward the door and then out to the car.

 _Home_ , Neal thought, was a concept he had never really understood, but he thought that maybe one day he would. Maybe one day soon.


End file.
